Kael still didn't move.
His knees ached from the stone floor, hands clenched into fists so tight his claws were drawing blood. His breathing was shallow, ragged, like he was choking on air. His eyes locked on Elira—still beautiful, still infuriating—but no longer untouchable. No longer noble.
She was kneeling in front of him, her thighs soaked and trembling, one hand dripping with slick from her own hole, the other stained with ink from the vile words she'd scrawled across her naked body.
He should've felt pity.
But all he felt was the ache.
That terrible, suffocating ache.
Allen saw it.
He saw everything.
And smiled.
A slow, lazy smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Then he spoke.
Calm. Even. Quiet.
But his voice carried like death.
"If you don't fuck her," Allen murmured, "I'll show you something worse than hell."
Kael's head snapped up, eyes wide. "What…?"
Allen didn't raise his voice. That made it worse.
